In the Arms of a Marquess(90)

Her sister’s eyes widened. “Before?”

Tavy waved her hand about. “At Fellsbourne.” Her cheeks were hot. But she deserved this, although perhaps not the ache of uncertainty pouring through her every cell.

“While you were betrothed to Lord Crispin, or before?”

“After, actually. Or, well. Yes.”

“Has he offered you marriage?”

“Um . . . Betrothed to another man until yesterday.” Or perhaps he had not offered simply because he did not wish to. But Alethea needn’t know that, and Tavy did not think she could say it aloud in any case.

Alethea’s expression remained unusually firm. “Be that as it may, now we must discuss this.”

“Allow me to sleep first. I will be a great deal more rational after, I suspect.”

Alethea nodded. Tavy went to her bedchamber and undressed. She crept under the bedclothes and tucked her hands beneath her cheek. A sleepy Lal crawled onto the pillow beside her and curled into a ball.

Upon awaking, she took only a cup of tea in her bedchamber then searched out her sister. St. John and Alethea sat in the parlor in which Ben had kissed her and made her forget everything but him. As he always did.

“I am sorry to have kept you from the office today, St. John. And sorry to have kept you awake through the night, Thea.”

“St. John just came home for lunch, and I slept all morning as you did. It is past noon already, you know.”

“Oh.”

Silence descended.

“Well?” Tavy finally said. “You are not Mama and Papa, and you allowed me to do mostly whatever I wished for nearly five years in Madras, so you will not chastise me, I hope.”

“Are you quite all right, Tavy?”

“Yes. But please, I truly do not wish to speak of the particulars.”

“Octavia,” St. John said, looking grim. “In the absence of your father from town at this time, do you wish me to call upon Lord Doreé and demand his obligation to you?”

“Oh, Lord, no. Please. But thank you for asking me. I appreciate you not taking the decision without my consent.”

Alethea glanced at her husband. St. John withdrew a folded paper from his pocket and gave it to Tavy.

“I received this before I left here this morning.”

Tavy took it with impressively steady hands that grew rapidly unsteady as she scanned the words.

Sir, Your confidence in matters of business at this time is appreciated. Upon my honor, Doreé

“What does it mean, Tavy?” Alethea asked.

“Your guess is quite as good as mine.” She folded the message and gave it back to her brother-in-law.

“Lord Styles approached me at Leadenhall Street this morning concerning a rumor he heard of a project I am pursuing with the marquess,” St. John said.

Tavy’s heart stumbled. “What did you say to him?”

“I said that matters remain uncertain.”

“Are you involved in business with the marquess?”

“I am not. Octavia, until this morning when Alethea informed me of your absence last night, from all I have known of Lord Doreé I have respected and trusted him. But one word from you, and I will pursue this.”

“No. Do not.” Ben must have good reason, especially if it involved lying to his closest friend. She could not imagine otherwise.

“At least his intent seems clear enough,” Alethea said.

Yes, that he was perfectly capable of sending a message to her brother-in-law concerning a mysterious business matter but no message at all to her.

Tavy’s heart thudded. This could not continue, swinging between misery and elation, hopelessness and the ecstasy of finally allowing herself to be completely in love with him again. But this time a great deal more so. Because now she understood much better what he did with his time, which he did not fritter away on fashionable activities and wicked women, and his wealth, which he did not reserve for expensive horses and cards. In truth she had known it all along, borne home intimately when he revealed to her his pursuit of Marcus’s blackmailer.

But something about how he left her in the middle of the night drove the reality deeper. To him, helping people was not an adventure, not a project or diversion to escape discontent. He helped people because he simply could not do otherwise.

“He must be confident of your discretion, sister,” Alethea said. “And, perhaps, of your feelings?”

“Possibly.” Quite.

“Are you certain you do not wish St. John to speak with him?”

“And demand that he marry me? Yes, very certain. That sort of thing is nonsensical, except I suppose in the case of the obvious consequence.” Due to lack of caution. Tavy’s heart fluttered, her stomach twisting.

“What will you do now?” Alethea asked.

“Do?” She had not given it a single thought. She was living the greatest adventure of her life, yet she had no atlas, no dictionary, and no idea at all of how she would travel hereafter. For the first time ever, she was taking the moments as they passed. It was a state at once marvelous and terrifying.

A footman appeared at the door. “Lady Constance Read.”

Constance’s eyes were rimmed with red, her mouth unsmiling. Tavy took her hand.

“How kind of you to call.” She drew her into the chamber. St. John bowed and Alethea smiled, stiff greetings. Of course, like the rest of society they had no reason to believe that Constance and Ben did not intend to marry. Tavy hadn’t either, except Ben’s assurance, gotten from him at a moment when some men might say anything. But she’d had this conversation with herself a dozen times already, although not, of course, since she told him she loved him and he responded with silence. Rather, near silence. He had cursed.